Chapter Twelve
On the morning of Monday, December sixteenth, Darcy donned the best daywear he’d brought to Netherfield.
Between them, he and his valet got his cravat tied perfectly, to which Darcy added a sapphire and diamond pin.
Not only did he owe it to Bingley to look his best for the wedding, Darcy had grown fond enough of Miss Bennet over the past three weeks to wish to show her such respect as well.
Darcy rode in Bingley’s carriage with him and Hurst, the ladies employing Darcy’s for the ride to the church. Seated across from Darcy, Bingley yanked at his cuffs. He tugged at his cravat, then winced and fluffed it. He adjusted his cuffs again.
“Second thoughts?” Hurst asked from where he sat beside Darcy.
Bingley snapped his gaze to Hurst. “About?”
“Marrying Miss Bennet.”
Tension drained from Bingley at the mere mention of her. “No. Not about Jane.”
“Then what’s the trouble?”
Bingley shrugged. “Standing up there in front of everyone.” He grimaced. “I don’t enjoy being the center of attention. I leave that to my sisters.”
Hurst snorted. “It won’t last long.”
Seeing Hurst had no better advice to give, Darcy offered what he knew would soothe him in Bingley’s place, assuming he married the right person, as Bingley was about to. “Miss Bennet will be by your side.”
Bingley sat up straighter, and even smiled. “She will be, won’t she?”
“I should hope so,” Hurst said.
Bingley didn’t seem to hear. “And, after today, she’ll always be by my side.”
Hurst, whom Darcy always suspected had married mostly for money, gave them a slightly disgusted look and turned to the window, but Bingley’s affability appeared restored. He spent the remainder of the ride wearing a nearly foolish grin, expression eager.
When they reached the church a few moments behind the ladies, Bingley hopped out and hurried inside. Darcy disembarked with more decorum, though eagerness filled him as well. He headed into the church, aware Elizabeth would be there.
And she was, standing near the front, speaking with her sister, Bingley and a smartly dressed couple old enough to be the uncle and aunt he had been told to expect.
Elizabeth wore the same gown she’d donned for the Netherfield ball, her appearance that evening engraved on Darcy’s memory.
He noted a dart of embroidery rising from the hemline.
As it was new, he deduced that it hid a tear.
Though that single line of embroidery had been artfully done and added beauty to the gown, it troubled him that no one seemed to have bothered to ensure she had a new dress for her sister’s wedding.
A lesser, but still pleasant, boon was the absence of Wickham.
While Captain Carter, who Miss Bennet had informed them was engaged to her sister Kitty, sat with the Bennet family, Wickham was nowhere to be seen.
As the letter that had held the news of Miss Kitty’s engagement had contained similar information about Miss Lydia and Wickham, Darcy turned to study that young woman.
She, like her sister Kitty, wore a gown that appeared either new or very well made over, but unlike Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia’s eyes were red rimmed and puffy from crying.
“Oh dear,” the familiar voice of Mrs. Phillips whispered behind him as Darcy headed up the aisle, “Do you suppose they broke off the engagement?”
Darcy hoped they had.
Mr. Phillips’ low voice replied, “Mr. Bennet told me that he will only allow the marriage when Mr. Wickham demonstrates that he can support a wife. He hasn’t done so yet but claims he will soon be able to. Lydia is unhappy about the delay.”
“Poor dear,” Mrs. Phillips murmured.
Wickham, able to provide for a wife? Darcy was glad the Phillips couldn’t see his face. Darcy imagined his expression mirrored Mr. Hurst’s reaction to Darcy’s and Bingley’s illusions to love.
Before Darcy could reach Elizabeth, everyone began taking their seats.
She went to attend her sister, and Darcy to stand with Bingley.
The pews filled, the priest taking his place.
As Mr. Bennet escorted his eldest daughter to the front of the church, Darcy realized that for all Bingley’s earlier concern, he was far from the center of attention.
Miss Bennet was so lovely, so radiantly happy, no one spared Bingley a glance.
When the ceremony concluded, Darcy attempted to reach Elizabeth’s side in the shuffle of departing the church, but with so many people present, Miss Bennet and Bingley being uniformly well liked, he couldn’t.
Finally, the requirements of a gentleman forcing him to permit many others to leave first, Darcy stepped free of the church.
Using his height coupled with that of the steps, he surveyed the mosaic of people and carriages below.
Elizabeth stood with Bingley and her sister, the newly made Mrs. Bingley, to the far right of the gathering. People filtered that way, seeking to wish the happy couple well before departing. Carriages formed a line in front of the church. Darcy suspected half the village had assembled.
A woman he’d never seen before came up the hill, wearing a rough spun wool gown and carrying a sack over one shoulder.
She stopped at the sight of the gathering, then resumed, stride long and determined, a frown on her face.
Darcy couldn’t say what about that angry stamp and dire glower truly worried him, but he started down the steps, working hard not to push people out of his way as the woman neared the happy couple, and Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth Bennet?” the woman cried. “Does anyone here know Elizabeth Bennet?”
Darcy pressed through the gathering, willing Elizabeth to silence.
She stepped around her sister and Bingley. “I’m Elizabeth Bennet.”
“You,” the woman cried and rushed up to Elizabeth. “You heartless, vile, selfish—”
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth gasped.
Ignoring her words, the woman kept up her rant in a string of invectives aimed at Elizabeth. Darcy pushed around Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty, noting that Captain Carter had left them to move in Elizabeth’s direction as well.
“I have no idea who you are,” Elizabeth protested, taking a step back.
“No you don’t. You won’t get away from me,” the woman cried, practically frothing at the mouth now.
Elizabeth took another step back.
The woman lunged for her, swinging her sack down from her shoulder and at Elizabeth. Darcy called out. Elizabeth raised her arm to ward off the blow. The woman shrieked.
The sack struck Elizabeth and she wrapped her arm about it, tugging. The woman let out a curse and grabbed for Elizabeth’s hair, spewing forth more verbal abuses to accompany her physical attack. She yanked and Elizabeth cried out in pain.
Darcy and Captain Carter pushed past Bingley, who appeared stunned into immobility, Mrs. Bingley clutching his arm. Somewhere behind Darcy, a woman screamed in fear.
At the sound, Elizabeth’s attacker’s head jerked up.
She saw Darcy and Captain Carter converging on her.
Letting go of her sack and Elizabeth she turned and ran.
Darcy reached Elizabeth’s side and caught her shoulders as she toppled backward, unbalanced by the woman’s abrupt retreat.
Carter rushed past them, down the hill after the woman.
Darcy steadied Elizabeth on her feet, then turned her to face him, fear and alarm necessitating the sight of her face.
“Are you harmed?” he demanded, the question coming out far harsher than he intended.
“Elizabeth.” Mrs. Bingley rushed to Elizabeth’s side. “Whoever was that? Did she hurt you?”
Elizabeth’s bonnet had come free. Half her hair hung down across her shoulder, pins scattered. Her cheeks and lips were pale. She shook her head. “I have no idea who she was.”
“No idea at all?” Mrs. Bingley asked, as if repeating the question would help, appearing nearly as stunned as Elizabeth.
People surrounded them, Bingley coming to stand by his wife. Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty started collecting hairpins, Miss Lydia holding Elizabeth’s bonnet. Beneath Darcy’s hands, Elizabeth’s shoulders trembled.
Mr. Bennet appeared at Elizabeth’s side. “I can take her,” he said, with a significant look at the hands Darcy still clasped on her shoulders.
Reluctantly, Darcy released her. Mr. Bennet put an arm about her.
Captain Carter ran up, out of breath, saying, “I lost her. There was a line of carriages…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “This came out of her pocket.” He proffered a letter.
The handwriting that scrawled the address on the outside, with its distinctive backwards slant, seemed vaguely familiar, as if glimpsed on occasion.
Before Darcy could figure out from where, Mrs. Bingley snatched the letter from Captain Carter’s hand.
She flipped it open and gasped. Face white, she held the letter out to her husband.
“What does it say?” Elizabeth asked.
Bingley’s jaw firmed with a determination Darcy had never seen there before. “It says, ‘Mrs. Clegg, I see no reason to give you what your brother withheld. I have destroyed the picture of your mother. Do not write me again.’ It’s signed, ‘Elizabeth Benet.’ That’s Benet with one N.”
Elizabeth shook her head, more dark hair tumbling free. “But I didn’t write that.” She removed a hairpin that was precariously holding a single lock and said softly, with a bit of humor after looking at the letter, “I would have spelled my name properly.”
Bingley looked past Darcy to loudly say, “Caroline, get out of that carriage and come here.”
Darcy turned to see Miss Bingley stick her head out the window of Bingley’s conveyance. Ignoring Bingley, she trained her neck to look up at the coachman. “I said to take me to Netherfield Park.”
Captain Carter rushed down the line and grabbed the bridle of one of the horses.
“I said drive,” Miss Bingley reiterated angrily.
The coachman said, “I can’t go until the captain lets go of the horse.”
“I believe that is the idea,” Darcy said, moving to hold the other horse.